


baby, it's hot outside

by urfriendlyneighborhoodpan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Bonding, F/M, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 09:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6605911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urfriendlyneighborhoodpan/pseuds/urfriendlyneighborhoodpan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah, totally, man. (yukiebokuroo)</p>
            </blockquote>





	baby, it's hot outside

**Author's Note:**

> Requested on tumblr inspired by this: http://rhymewithrachel.tumblr.com/post/139276758308/palentines-day
> 
> Good shit right there.
> 
> Anon asked for a general fic about their relationship.

The heat from outside bleeds straight through the walls, steals the air from her lungs and leaves her mumbling and agitated. She spends the morning lounging about in her favorite sweats, but come noon she can no longer take the haze beginning to collect at her windows. She cracks one open and sets up a tall fan in front of it, switches out for a pair of cotton shorts and fills an ice tray with water to slide into the freezer for later. She is rummaging through her fridge for a snack when her phone chimes from the living room couch.

She skims the message, and then taps around until it turns to phone call. She leans her weight on one foot and idly counts each ring before he answers, voice frantic and breathless, “ _Hello_?”

She only counted one.

There’s a voice somewhere in the background, rising at the end in question, and the sounds of wind whipping by the receiver as he pulls away to shout an answer. “ _Sorry—are you busy right now?_ ”

“Not,” she glances toward the TV, where an infomercial has been playing for the past hour, “exactly.”

“ _Can we come over? It’s so hot outside, Yu—_ ”

“Yeah, totally, man,” she brushes off, heading back into the kitchen. “Bring food.”

She is lying boneless and dizzy on her living room floor when he bursts through the door, all crinkling plastic bags and dramatic wheezing. The taller boy trails in behind him, balancing a paper bag atop a Styrofoam box and shutting the door carefully behind them. She briefly casts a glance down her bare legs, she hasn’t shaved in a while and for a second she wonders if they’ll care enough to mention it.

Bokuto tosses the plastic bags of snacks and beverages on the kitchen table, and then immediately yanks his shirt off by the back of his collar. He huffs and frees his arms, draping the soaked fabric over the back of one chair. He seems to consider stripping off his jeans as well, but Kuroo slaps him on one arm before he can follow through with it. He gets to arranging the food on the counter as Bokuto wipes at his own cheek with the back of his hand.

“It’s pretty warm in here,” Kuroo comments, brushing past the other boy to collect the plastic bags.

“Is the AC on?” Bokuto asks, squinting past her at the fan she’s currently hogging.

“Do you have any idea how expensive that can get.”

“Yukie,” Bokuto whines, crossing over to her in a few large bounds. “ _Yukie_ —”

“I _just_ finished paying the bills off—”

“— _please_ , tell me you’re joking,” he says, and absentmindedly reaches out to curl his fingers over her hips. Her tank top cuts off just before the waistband of her shorts, and his skin is so hot on hers she reflexively hisses and tries to smack his hands away. Something flickers behind his gaze, shiny and bright and cunning.

“This fan should totally be enough,” she shrugs, and makes the mistake of glancing toward Kuroo, standing with his cheek pressed against the inside of the freezer door. “I think I have ice c— _no_.”

“Give me a hug, Yukie,” Bokuto says, sliding his arms between hers and dragging her into his chest. He can all too easily tuck her underneath his chin and for a second she is so overwhelmed by his scent—that sickeningly powerful musk, all sweaty and hot and boyish—that she feels the room spin and her breath catch. She doesn’t like it, is so immediately repelled she sucks in air sharply and twists away from him. Her mouth briefly skims his collarbone and he holds her firmly, despite how terribly uncomfortable the both of them are.

“You smell _awful_ ,” she groans, flattening her hands on his chest and then quickly snatching them away. “You’re fucking sticky, what the f—”

His cheek burns across her forehead, and as soon as the feels his mouth brush her temple she jerks back. “Give me a kiss, Yukie.”

“I’m not turning on the AC, Kou.”

“Now you’re just being unreasonable.”

“Can I eat these?” Kuroo asks, and she pops up on her toes to peer over Bokuto’s shoulder. Kuroo waves a blue box of popsicles for her to see.

“Of course—get him off.”

A suggestive grin stretches across Kuroo’s face, and she can’t help returning it. “Alright, man, come over here and help me get this stuff ready.”

Bokuto folds her into him, but it’s different this time. He presses a soft and lingering kiss on her eyebrow and reaches down to squeeze her hip gently. “Please let me take my pants off, I’m dying.”

“Okay.”

He kicks them toward the corner of the living room and she moves to switch the fan higher. The two boys fiddle around her kitchen and she plucks up the remote to flip through the channels for something more interesting. Kuroo is the first to join her, setting out bowls of chips and piling up baggies of her more favorite candy near the edge for her to take. He briefly straightens to stare at her, and then reaches for the hem of his shirt to peel the black fabric from his tanned skin. He sighs as he drops it by his feet and then sets to work on his belt. He flops down on her sofa and pushes his jeans down to his knees, awkwardly sliding them down to his feet and then yanking them free. They stay crumpled there before Yukie comes forward to toe them under the coffee table.

“Thanks,” he huffs, and then slowly drops to his side to angle his face toward the fan.

Bokuto returns with stacked cups and a few cool liters of soda under one arm, gripping the bag of food in the other hand and precariously balancing the box atop that. She takes it before it can topple over and helps him set it all out on the table. He sinks down beside Kuroo and stretches out until their knees are almost touching. “Thanks, Yukie. It’s hell outside.”

“If you could just bring a bag of ice and throw it on me, that’d be great,” Kuroo mumbles.

“I have one ice tray.”

“I have never been so thoroughly disappointed in my life.”

“Where do I sit?” She gestures around them. It’s only a loveseat, and between two boys that equally shoot past six foot, it’s utterly cramped. It’s always a strange reality check whenever they come over to her apartment, ducking under every doorframe and towering her nice little cupboards. Kuroo’s arm touches the wood floor easily and Bokuto’s legs extend under the coffee table. And with all their rippling muscles and full bodies, everything almost shrinks in their presence.

Kuroo squints up at her, these sharp and narrow eyes, and then pushes himself further against the back cushions to give her a little space. He sweeps his arm over the spot and smiles lazily. “Take a seat.”

“That seems a little uncomfortable.”

“Take a seat.”

She sits awkwardly for a second, the heat of his chest buffering against the back of her shirt, and then casts aside all sense of propriety and leans back until her spine curves over him and her head sinks against the cushion. It’s not comfortable by any stretch of the imagination, and she can already feel the warmth building between them, but he doesn’t say a single word in complaint and she figures he’s just being really nice.

“Can’t you stream movies?” Bokuto pipes up, and he has a liter of soda cradled on his stomach. His face is flushed and she’s never noticed that freckle near his right nipple.

“Yeah, click on source.”

“Yukie, I don’t mean to be creepy, and you can refuse if you’re not okay with it, but please take your shirt off, you’re killing me here.”

Bokuto gives a low whistle as he switches sources. “ _Nice_.”

“Dude—”

“Alright,” she relents, crossing her arms at the hem and sweeping it over her head. She tosses it toward the small pile under the coffee table and it catches on the corner instead. “The shorts, too, or—?”

“Yes.”

“No, not if you don’t want to,” Kuroo says, lifting his foot to nudge Bokuto’s knee away slightly.

“Why don’t we all just get naked?”

“It’s too hot for sex.”

“It’s not too hot,” Bokuto says, oddly serious, “for bonding experiences.”

Yukie drops her shorts. “Wanna be my big spoon?”

“Yeah, just don’t touch me, I’m gross,” Kuroo says.

“Are we getting naked or nah?”

“Just let the mood take us there,” Yukie replies, and then jolts when Kuroo shifts a little. She accidentally rolls back into his chest, and it is so horribly hot they both struggle to reorganize themselves.

“That was really inconsiderate, I asked very nicely.”

“You weigh more than me, stop moving around.”

Bokuto chooses a D-list scary movie, something campy and hurriedly done up. He sets the volume just high enough to hear, but low enough they can all still talk. And as he begins to pour them drinks, Kuroo casually asks about work or school and she hums around responses. The fan settles over them coolly, but the heat thrums against their skin and melts them into the sofa. Kuroo drapes his arm over her side and mumbles a protest when she tries to shake him off, rising in pitch as Bokuto stretches out some to hook his own knee over Kuroo’s.

“Yukie,” Bokuto says, and she lifts her head, watches his ribs expand as he breathes and his abdomen clench as he shifts. “Put your foot here, complete the circle.”

“Don’t listen to him,” Kuroo mutters, but Yukie is already shimmying down a little to extend her leg. As soon as it brushes Bokuto’s leg, he jerks up and makes Kuroo jump in surprise. Too much movement, and suddenly her back is flush against Kuroo’s chest, interrupted only by the band of her bra. He hisses and places his hand on her waist to guide her away gently. “What was that?”

Yukie starts, momentarily stunned as Bokuto brings his hand lightly over her shin. His fingers curl over and he strokes the prickling skin carefully. She almost yanks her leg away, but his eyes are wide and pleasantly curious. “What?”

“Never felt that before,” he comments, and she feels another hand on her upper thigh, just as warm. “You always shave.”

Kuroo seems to pause at the little webbings of white marks at her hip, tracing them, and then skipping up to spread his fingers on her belly. There are thin, thin hairs there, and he seems to hesitate at the feel of them. “I have these, too,” he finally says, and she lets out a sigh she hadn’t known she’d been holding.

“What ones?” Bokuto asks, and scoots closer to feel around Kuroo’s fingers. “That’s weak, Yukie, I’ve never even noticed them before this.”

“She usually wears a shirt during sex.”

“What for?”

“Thought it was weird for me to have hair,” she says, and watches Kuroo reach out to brush his fingers over Bokuto’s happy trail. “I thought you two would make fun of me for it.”

“You didn’t say anything about _my_ hair.”

“You’re a dude.”

“We _should_ have sex—Yukie, if I could have the honor of taking off your bra—”

“You say that like you know how.”

“We haven’t even eaten,” Yukie points out, gesturing at the table. “And it’s too hot, we’ve established this.”

“Not if we don’t touch.”

“ _How_ —”

“Or maybe just watch me and Kuroo, you don’t have to feel obligated.”

“I don’t have lube here.”

“I’m personally offended.”

She stretches, extracts herself from Kuroo’s arms and swings her legs off theirs to stand. She rounds the coffee table to get some plates and forks from the kitchen and hands them off to Bokuto. “What’d you guys buy?”

“Noodles, and some other stuff,” Bokuto says, setting down the plates and opening up the bag to take out these Styrofoam cups filled with steaming food. “In retrospect, we should’ve gotten something more refreshing…”

Kuroo takes a sip of his soda and nearly chokes and coughs when Yukie reaches around her back, unhooks her bra, and tosses it toward the TV. She stops to feel about under breasts, wipe the sweat collected there, and continues to step over Bokuto’s legs and slide in between them. Kuroo immediately sits up properly and sets both feet on the ground, clearing his throat and focusing an absurd amount on the chip he’s picked from the bowl.

“You’ve seen them before.”

“Not like this.”

“Do you wanna hug.”

“Please don’t touch me.”

Her breath hitches around a laugh and it’s a strange sensation, her arm is snug against Kuroo’s, and Bokuto’s arm is flung over the back of the sofa, the same smell that had made her recoil now almost pleasant. It doesn’t cling to Kuroo as thickly as Bokuto, but this isn’t surprising. He’s always had the habit of smelling cleaner, sharp and piney and good. She deliberately knocks her knee against his thigh and he leans forward to pick her cup and hand it to her. Bokuto only retracts to serve them food equally, hungrily devouring his with a fervor Yukie still can’t perfectly match, but they are both on their second plates while Kuroo still works through his first.      

The rest, she puts away in the fridge for later.

It is turning toward sunset, and for once the fan seems to be working. Someone points out she seems cold and she doesn’t bother folding her arms over her chest. This new and comfortable energy fall over them and she thinks maybe Bokuto was right, for once. Between the three, he’s the hairiest, and his legs and arms are scattered with black strands. He also takes up the most space, and the most air, and the most attention. He leans around Yukie to plant a wet kiss on Kuroo’s lips and his hand is on her knee, some reassurance she does not need but cannot possibly find any less endearing.

They’re on the third movie and it feels as if they’re one, in a strange sort of way. She feels Kuroo give in and cup her breast and she hardly notices for a second; she cups his pec and his shoulders jump in a chuckle. There’s nothing sexual about any of it, no matter how many jokes Bokuto makes. Someone’s fingers are dancing on her thigh, and their skin is bordering pleasant at this point. Someone kisses her ear and she can’t tell which or from where, the soda boils in the pit of her stomach and a laugh bubbles out from her throat. Every now and again, the boys murmur to one another something private and romantic and it is tempered by their touch, sweet nothings mumbled into her skin.

It’s funny, she thinks. Everything moves in synchronization and she almost feels like she knows exactly how all of this works, what words to respond with when someone asks her, “But which one do you love more?”

It’s not even a question anymore.

Kuroo pulls her into his chest and combs his fingers through her hair, all attentive and supportive and kind.

Bokuto traces over her imperfections and names them beautiful, knows her down to the nitty gritty and never flinches once through it all.

It’s not even a question anymore.

She returns Kuroo’s kiss tender and sweet, and Bokuto’s familiar and hungry. There is no space between them and it is stifling, this heat, this midsummer night in this cramped space—too many knees and elbows and hips, too many mouths at one time, too much and yet not enough; messy and real and burning.

“Can we stay the night?” Bokuto asks, and his golden eyes are too brilliant and too bright and too soft in this moment. She breathes in and his hand is on her ribs, big and hot and comfortable.

“Yeah, totally, man,” she brushes off, and she can feel Kuroo’s chuckles rumbling around her.

.x.

**Author's Note:**

> They didn't specify if they wanted sfw or nsfw, so I tried a mix of both kinda?? I don't know, hope you like it.


End file.
